A Liability
by grape-flavored-ruku
Summary: In an alternate universe, Connie was offered a job at Blackgaard's Castle. She accepted.
1. The Rule-Breaker

Like a labyrinth from the Greek myths, the building twisted in on itself. Creature-like arcade machines covered in tarps slumbered against every wall. The dark, caged figure of the Madame Ouga machine stood in the corner, catching the light from the industrial bulbs above. An artificial, oily scent leaked from the garish carpeting spread across the rooms.

The owner of the hell-hole himself walked backward to the center of the room and held his arms wide. "Welcome to Blackgaard's Castle." His eyes glittered underneath the shadows cast across his angular face.

From the side of the room, Richard rubbed his hands together. "Whad'ya think?"

Connie opened her mouth and shook her head. She took a few steps in from the door. "It's… uh…"

"Great, isn't it?" Richard finished, then walked a circle around his boss. "Doc's got the entire place figured out," he listed on his fingers, "the games, the food, the drinks, and how the kids'll react to it _all._"

Blackgaard held out a hand to stop Richard from pacing. "A modest achievement. The _real_ challenge is to find good help so we can open." He looked meaningfully at Connie.

She looked away from his black eyes and at the unlit neon signs on the walls. "I… it's hard to decide on the spot."

Blackgaard hummed and gestured to a hallway. "Why don't we go look at some other rooms here? The break room, for instance-"

"I set it up myself," Richard interrupted, eagerly gesturing for Connie to follow. "It's got a T.V. and a microwave, and a really nice couch!"

He bounced down the shoddy, box-filled hallway to a door on the side and threw it open. "Tah-dah!"

Connie peered in from the door. "Nice." The orange couch didn't complement the green carpet_ at all_, but the microwave on the floor next to the television didn't seem out-of-place.

She shuddered to think of what Richard's apartment looked like.

Blackgaard passed the break room altogether and opened an unmarked door at the end of the hall. "This is my office." He held the door open.

She walked in, catching a gentle vanilla whiff of cologne and pomade as she passed him.

The immaculate, polished office desk was the centerpiece of the room, complementing the wood finish on the walls and floor. A thin bookshelf lined the wall to the left, while a Dutch flag graced the wall to the right.

Richard followed her in and then Blackgaard shut the door.

Connie swallowed.

They had placed a single bowl of mints on the corner of the desk. Richard snagged one and then plopped into the thick office chair and tore into the wrapper. "You can have one. They're free."

She sat in the smaller chair across the desk and tried to control her heart rate.

Blackgaard coolly leaned against the bookshelf. "Now that you've seen my project, Connie, I'd like to ask for your thoughts on it."

"It's… interesting."

He didn't smile, but his tone became lighter. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"How about working here, Connie?" Richard smiled.

Blackgaard's eyes didn't leave Connie. "Don't be so _rash_, Richard." He seemed to study her, to see right through her. "I'd say Miss Kendall has some decisions to make before she can even _begin_ to think about our offer."

She avoided his gaze. "Decisions?" She squeaked and stupidly blinked, trying to get her irrational nerves under control.

"Of course. Choose between us and John Whittaker."

"He _fired me_ from Whit's End," she snapped. She stared at Blackgaard. "You_ know_ he fired me."

He avoided her eyes as he picked a book from the bookshelf. "Then why is it so hard to choose?"

Because she'd never truly believed the fact that John Avery Whittaker- the strongest, kindest, most fatherly man she'd ever met- had played favorites and hired Eugene over her.

She was angry with him for firing her. For refusing to offer her job back, even when she'd gone into the building and make awkward hints about it.

"That chapter in your life is over." Blackgaard thumbed through The Last Battle. "It's time to start anew."

Richard nodded sagely, still sucking on the peppermint. "Denial is pointless."

"I'm not in denial."

Blackgaard slapped the book shut. "No, no, of course not." He seemed to notice Richard for the first time with slight irritation. "Do I hear Sasha scratching at the door?"

Richard shrugged. "I hear nothing."

"We _must_ get that checked. Let Sasha out, thank you."

The finality in his tone left no room for argument.

Richard grumbled and heaved himself from the chair. He opened the door and began to call, "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!"

Blackgaard shut and locked the door behind him.

Connie stood, alarmed. "You didn't have to send him out."

"He has a mouth that runs faster than his brain," Blackgaard grumbled. He crossed the office to his chair, straightened it, and sat.

Connie sat again. She leaned a little into the chair.

Blackgaard flicked Richard's mint wrapper off the desk. "What do you know about him?"

"Not much…" she hesitated. "He used to work with Eugene at the college before they had a falling out. That's all I know."

He nodded slowly. "They fired Richard for a grade-changing scheme in which he manipulated your friend and a young man named Nicholas Adamsworth. They_ illegally hacked_ into the college computers under duress."

Connie swallowed.

Blackgaard tilted his head. "Was I_ wrong_ to hire him, Miss Kendall?"

"Well, you're definitely taking a risk."

"Indeed." He steepled his fingers. "I believe in second chances. Do you think_ anyone_ would hire Richard after what he's done?" He chuckled. "Very unlikely. As is the same with you. Whittaker fired you because you're a rule-breaker, and frankly, a liability."

She folded her arms. "Now wait a minute-"

"Tell me he doesn't think so."

She remembered the disappointment in Whit's blue eyes- and his confusion when she came back earlier that day. He seemed distant, even aloof.

"I'm offering you the position," Blackgaard continued, "because I believe in second chances. I think we can say less of your former employer." He stuck out his hand to shake. "The choice is yours."

She stared at Blackgaard's hand. His pinky finger had a silver university ring.

His words from earlier buzzed in her head. That chapter in your life is over.

Maybe he was right.

She gripped his hand and shook- then watched him smile for the first time as he clasped her hand in both of his.


	2. Identity

Uniforms.

She blankly watched Richard pull two plastic helmets out of a Goodwill bag.

They had to wear _uniforms. _

He grinned as he slipped a helmet over his head. "Great, huh? They clearance out the Halloween stuff at this time of year." He lifted the visor. "I got us whole costumes if you want to wear one."

She finally found her voice. "I'm not wearing that," she croaked.

"Why not? It's knights! In a _castle!_"

Goodwill or no, she didn't want anyone to see her in a Blackgaard's Castle uniform. She didn't want _Whit _to see her in the uniform.

She still liked that frustrating old man. If Blackgaard knew, he'd call it 'nonsensical.' Probably would have her fired.

It was a secret.

It had to stay that way.

"Connie?" Richard had raised both eyebrows. He held out a helmet. "You all right?"

She took the helmet from him. Her face distorted in the shiny plastic. She sighed and pulled it over her head.

Light filtered through the slats in the visor. If she lowered it, no one would see her face.

_Whit_ wouldn't see her face.

Not that he wanted to, anyway.

Her chest tightened at the memory of when Whit fired her. The disappointment on his face. She suddenly felt sick. "Excuse me." She brushed past Richard and headed to the break-room.

Just before she shut the door, he called to her. "Hey! What about the swords?"

The break-room smelled like microwave popcorn today, a favorite of Richard's. She sank on the couch and laid her head back. The television was on, but the volume muted. She left it that way and silently watched an arthritis medication commercial.

She groaned into the helmet as her thoughts formed more clearly. How long could she hide the fact that her heart was at Whit's End? It was only a matter of time before someone found out that she was nothing but an imposter in a knight costume.

She heard a knock on the door frame. "Connie?"

"Go away, Richard."

The door creaked open. "It sounded like you said 'come in.'"

"I said go away-"

"It was a joke." He snorted. "You don't have to wear a uniform if you don't want to, I was just trying to… make us a team."

Her throat tightened again as she lifted the visor of the helmet. "That's the problem."

He raised an eyebrow.

She hastily backtracked. "I mean- I'm not-"

"Ready." He finished. He nodded sagely. "I know. We're not stupid, Connie, Blackgaard and I both know you'd rather be at Whit's End."

She swallowed. "Then why am I here?"

His eyes glinted.

He said nothing.

Connie looked away, back at the television. The news channel played a report on the opening of Blackgaard's Castle. Unease settled in her stomach as they flashed the opening date on the bottom of the screen: this Saturday.

"Whittaker won't take you back, Connie."

"I know." The day she'd walked into Whit's End with Richard Maxwell, Whit had been so distant. If there was any hope of getting her job back, it was false.

She needed to let it go. Like Blackgaard had said when he'd hired her.

She sighed and stood, took off the helmet and tucked it under her arm. "So, where's the rest of the costume?"

Richard gave her a sunny smile. "Follow me."


	3. Slippery Slopes

Connie paced back and forth in front of the Zappazoids arcade machine, waiting for Richard to finish the boss level before they moved the rest of the machines in place.

She tapped him on the shoulder. "Come _on, _Richard, we don't have all day!"

"Give me one second." The green, six-eyed alien at the top of the screen spewed goop at Richard's little spaceship. He muttered and then mashed the button next to the joystick. "Die_, die!_"

Connie chewed her bottom lip and peered down the hallway at the closed office door. "Dr. Blackgaard told us-"

"I know, I know," Richard snapped, "lighten up."

It was times like this she missed working with Eugene. He wouldn't be caught dead slacking off- at least, not intentionally.

The monster on the screen exploded. Richard pumped his fist as pixellated confetti shot from the spaceship. He turned to Connie. "You happy now?"

She grumbled and walked over to the first in the stack of tarp-covered arcade machines. "These don't look too heavy." She pulled the tarp off to reveal _Gauntlet_\- another hack-and-slash game with a muscled, shirtless Thor on the side.

She sighed.

Richard pointed to an empty wall. "We can just line them up along there. Doc has a few power strips to plug them in."

With Richard on one side and Connie on the other, they wrestled _Gauntlet _to the back wall. The carpet snagged the feet, and several times they almost dropped the machine.

Richard wiped his brow after they practically dumped it against the back wall. "One down. We need to set them on the floor _slowly_. The next one is glass."

Connie stretched her back. "Oh? Which one?"

Richard walked to the end of the machine line and pulled the tarp from a taller, fatter box.

_Madam Ouga _blazed on all sides in gold lettering. Madam herself was a robotic, red-lipped, dead-eyed fortune-teller, caged behind decorative panes of glass.

Connie stiffened. "That's not a game."

"You're right, more of a novelty."

"That's not what I meant." She crossed her arms and took a step back.

The front panes each had a gold-lettered blurb in the corners. _Learn the future! The Gypsies will pronounce your fate! Madam Ouga knows all! _

Connie swallowed hard. How could she say that she didn't feel right about _fortunes? _It wouldn't be Christian of her to just… let the kids play with that thing.

Richard studied her for a moment. "You're not _afraid_ of it, are you?" He grinned and put his face to the glass. "Madam's gonna free herself and roam the arcade! _Fortune Killer_: The Movie." He laughed loudly at his own joke.

"I'm gonna go for a walk." Connie turned on her heel and walked out, not even waiting for Richard to stop her.

* * *

A flock of pigeons scattered into the sunshine as she stepped outside. She didn't pause to enjoy the view. She walked past Dr. Blackgaard's shiny car, out of the parking lot, across the road, and into the forest of McAlister Park.

Dappled sunlight fell on her shoulders. The knot in her stomach began to loosen as she wandered aimlessly through the trees.

She couldn't continue to work at Blackgaard's Castle. Not with all the raunchy games and pseudo-spirituality. It wasn't right.

Another part of her doubt nagged at her. _Where would she go if she quit? _

She spotted a bench. She walked over and sat, hunched over, and prayed.

After minutes of silence, she muttered a broken _amen. _If anyone could show her what to do, God sure could.

A familiar voice with a twangy drawl startled her from behind. "Well, I'll be! If it isn't Connie Kendall!"

She twisted her neck to look back at Tom Riley, who emerged from the path to the baseball diamond. He whistled a few notes of "_Take Me Out to the Ball Game."_

She smiled.

He stopped short of the bench. "Y'mind if I sit?"

She shrugged, still smiling.

He peeled off his ratty _Odyssey Coyotes_ baseball cap and sat. He let out a satisfied sigh. "What a beau-tee-ful day! The Coyotes are runnin' me ragged, but the birds and the weather make it all worth it."

They sat in delicate silence for a moment. The subject of her last visit to Whit's End was on the tip of her tongue. _Why didn't Whit take her back? Why wouldn't he give her a second chance? _

Tom must have sensed it. He suddenly wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her an awkward side hug. "Good to see you, Connie."

"Yeah," she echoed, "you too."

He released her, then fidgeted with his hands, as if he'd made a mistake in touching her. "I, ah, didn't see you at Bible Study yesterday."

She'd skipped, partly because Blackgaard asked her to help with unloading the arcade machines, and partly because she was a coward.

"Were you sick?" Tom asked hopefully.

Sick in the heart, maybe.

Tom cleared his throat. "Connie, I'm not both of the people in this conversation."

She looked away. "No, I wasn't sick."

"Oh."

She glared at his tone of voice. "No, I didn't come to Bible study, and no, I don't have an excuse for it."

Silence.

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Tom." Not just for yelling at him.

"Is something on your mind?"

His gentle demeanor put her at ease. He looked at her like he was willing to listen and wanted to _understand_.

Did _she _really understand? "Have you ever realized that you made a bad decision… and aren't strong enough to fix it?"

Her mind flashed back to the fortune machine. It was _just _a game.

Was she _really_ willing to quit over it?

Tom waited a moment before responding, as if wondering if she were asking him or just talking about herself. "The Lord always gives us strength to do the right thing, Connie."

She stewed in that bit of information.

She had no excuse _not _to quit.

"Um," She stood and gave him a watery smile. "It was nice to see you, Tom."

He leaned back into the bench as if he planned to stay awhile longer. "I'll be praying for you, Connie."

"Thanks."

She walked away through the trees, then glanced back.

The bench practically glowed in the sunshine. Tom sat with his head drooped and hands folded as if he were praying with all his might.

She was lucky to have a friend like him.

Applesauce had not destroyed _everything._


	4. Too Late

Connie resolutely walked towards the sharp outline of Blackgaard's Castle, every step stronger than the last.

She glanced over the paper in her hand as she strode down the sidewalk. A notice of resignation, complete with a short note explaining why. She'd even managed to mention her faith. Dr. Blackgaard, a self-proclaimed atheist, definitely wouldn't be pleased.

But she wouldn't care.

With that, she fished her employee key from her pocket as she approached the rusty metal back door, the _No Trespassing_ sign hanging on its corner by a single screw. She inserted the key into the lock, jiggled it, felt it click, and pulled the door open.

The messy hallway stretched out before her. Unopened shipments of plastic tokens and cheap prizes lined the walls.

The heavy door swung shut behind her with a _clang_.

The hallway plunged into darkness.

She crept through, ears perked for any sound of Richard or Dr. Blackgaard doing work on the arcade. Nothing, except for her own footsteps shuffling through empty boxes.

She'd seen Dr. Blackgaard's old Mercedes in the parking lot, and Richard's mountain bike locked to the dumpster outside.

Where were they?

A sliver of light shone down the opposite hallway where Blackgaard's office was.

She walked past the empty soda counter, the blank faces of the arcade machines, and the dead-eyed stare of Madam Ouga.

Blackgaard's voice echoed through the walls, muffled and angry. His words were only a blur. Yellow light spilled from under the office door, where every few seconds a shadow passed, like a tiger pacing in its cage.

Strains of Richard's voice fought their way through the wall, quiet and distressed.

Her chest tightened as curiosity sprang to life. She tiptoed her way to the door.

"...and your self-proclaimed conscience isn't going to stop me."

"Look, Doc, you hired me to hack into the computer, that was it."

The shadow passed in front of the door. "I hired you to _get the program_. You have not. Therefore, we must resort to extreme measures."

Connie couldn't hear Richard's reply. She pressed her ear to the door.

Blackgaard chuckled. "You're not developing affection for your co-worker, are you?"

"No, no! Not like that. She's just… nicer to me than _you_ ever are."

"Charity is fickle, Richard. She'd stop speaking to you if she knew what you _really_ are."

"She wouldn't have come to work here if she knew what _you_ really are," Richard retorted.

The shadow moved away from the door. Blackgaard's voice became dangerously calm. "And what _am_ I?"

An uncomfortable silence followed.

Then, Richard spoke. "You're a failure."

He yelped as Blackgaard roared. The shadow reappeared as something slammed against the door.

Richard.

Blackgaard's booming, furious voice seemed to fill the hallway as if the door didn't exist at all. "I won't be thwarted by _anyone_, least of all by _you!_"

Richard whimpered.

"You're a _bug!_ A _mosquito_ in the grand scheme of my work, Richard! How _dare you_-"

Connie yanked on the door. Blinding light flooded the hallway as Richard slipped from Blackgaard's grasp and landed with a _thud_ on the floor.

Blackgaard slowly lowered his fist, the red tinge on his face only growing stronger. Pupils dilated, he looked like a wild animal robbed of its prey.

Richard sighed from the floor. "Connie…"

She cleared her throat. "Was this a bad time?" She glanced from Blackgaard to the computer screen behind him.

She'd recognize that blue-and-green programs list from anywhere. Mabel's interface. The highlighted program read _Applesauce_.

Blackgaard stared intently into Connie's eyes. "No."

She shoved away welling feelings of panic and thrust the paper into his hands. "This is for you."

Richard pulled himself into a cross-legged pose and rubbed his forehead.

Blackgaard's jaw tightened as he read the note.

"I don't want any trouble," Connie held up her hands, "I just want to-"

"It's too late." Blackgaard folded the note in half with a tight crease.

"What do you mean? That's my resignation-"

He folded the paper into quarters with an equally tight, creased smile. "It's _much _too late." He placed the paper into her outstretched hand and placed his hands over hers. "Come into the office, Connie."

"No, thanks." She tried to pull away.

He wouldn't let go.

She looked to Richard for help.

He stared forlornly back at her.

A black bruise was quickly spreading across his arm.

She relented. Blackgaard tugged her into the office and shut the door.

She stuffed her resignation into the front pocket of her jeans.

Blackgaard motioned to the small office chair as he locked the door. "Sit."

There were no mints in the bowl on the desk this time. Just wrappers.

As she sat, the folded corner of the paper poked into her thigh.

Sasha watched her warily from her perch on the top of the bookshelf.

Connie eyed the computer screen. _Applesauce_ was just a keystroke away. "So this was your big scheme, huh? To make Whit's End go crazy so you can have all the customers to yourself?"

Blackgaard laughed.

Startled, she frowned. "It's not funny. Whit could go out of business."

Blackgaard shook his head and tapped a finger on the computer screen. "I need the password for level two."

Mabel's voice echoed in her head. _Ten seconds. Nine. _

She shrugged. "I don't have the password."

_Eight. Seven._

Blackgaard seemed to force himself to stay calm. Muscles in his jaw jumped as he tensed. "Surely Whittaker has it." He began to scroll through the programs.

_Six. Five_.

"You want me to go back to Whit's End?" Her throat went dry.

_Four. Three._

Blackgaard stopped on a program called _Power Surge_. "I want that password."

_Two_.

"Well, you're not going to get it. Not from me."

_One._

His finger hovered over the _return_ key. "Perhaps I'm not making myself clear. You _will_ go back to Mr. Whittaker and get the password, or I will send six-thousand volts of power to your precious Whit's End and it will _burn to the ground_."

She pursed her lips and watched him carefully.

He hit the _return_ key.

She jumped.

The screen popped up a box asking for confirmation.

His finger again hovered over the _return _key.

"Stop." Connie pressed a hand to her forehead. "Stop… I'll get the password."

"Good." Blackgaard clasped his hands together.

She clenched her jaw and got up. She unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway.

Richard was gone.

A shadow suddenly blanketed her as Blackgaard's tall frame filled the door. "Remember, Connie... I'll be watching."

She walked away without looking back.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi I'm still alive and your reviews still inspire me so thank you for those

I literally wrote this chapter today but it just took me so long to find time and motivation.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Ignorance and Cowardice

She'd been tricked.

She walked out of the dark building on shaky legs. Lightning flashed between the clouds, followed by dry thunder seconds after. It rattled through the ground and into the back of Connie's skull.

It was too dangerous to walk in this. She'd be electrocuted and leave nothing but a black mark on the pavement.

She lingered under the awning of Blackgaard's Castle. Across the street, a cool mist sprayed from the McAlister Park sprinklers. Small rivulets of water ran down the sidewalks and into the storm drain.

She shivered, then glanced above her head. The new, castle-brick façade on the building couldn't hide the loose wiring running through cracks to the lights like spider webs.

Any second, Blackgaard would come out to pull his collector's car under the awning in case of hail.

Six blocks away, the spire of Whit's End peeked over the other buildings that surrounded it.

No, _any_ shelter but that one. She needed a chance to let her stomach turn into something _other_ than a pretzel.

"Great, isn't it?" The sharp _click-click_ of a bike chain echoed under the awning as Richard approached. The usual smirk on his face had vanished, replaced with a frown. "If Blackgaard weren't such a _freak_, I'd ask him for a ride."

Thunder cracked as a strike lit up the other side of town. The stoplight two blocks down started blinking red.

She gestured to the bike. "Are you going to _ride_ in this?"

He snorted. "You kidding? The bus is gonna be here any second now. I assume that's why _you're_ standing here."

_Oh. _"Y-yeah." She fished in her front pocket for her bus pass. Something sharp pricked her finger. She pulled out a crisply folded piece of paper.

Her resignation.

She unfolded it.

_Dear Dr. Blackgaard, _

_Please accept this notice that I will no longer be working at Blackgaard's Castle as of today._

_I am grateful for the opportunity and "second chance" that you extended to me. As I have learned more about the business, I've found several things that Blackgaard's Castle promotes that do not align with my views as a Christian. I feel that I must resign and not promote these things. _

_I hope that everything goes well for your business. _

_Sincerely, _

_Connie Kendall. _

She crumpled it into a wad.

Richard pursed his lips. "That worked out _real_ well, huh?"

She tossed the paper into the trash can just to the side of the entrance. "I can't believe he tricked me into this…"

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Richard leaned against his bike, rubbing his arm.

She eyed his bruise- now purple with splotches of yellow, like an abstract painting.

He caught her eye and held up his arm. "Pretty, huh?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, "I like how you can see the exact place each of his fingers were."

She swallowed hard. "I didn't realize…"

"What?" He frowned. "That Blackgaard is a monster? This is how he operates, Connie. From the inside. He's friends with everyone and just wants to _help_, until he finds a weakness and _tears it open_." He shook his head. "He leaves nothing to salvage. Nothing. People like me are under his thumb until the day we _die_."

Connie stared at the ground. "I'm sorry."

"Save it for yourself."

The conversation ground to a halt as the bus screeched to a stop at the station marker across the street.

Richard ran across, Connie on his heels.

They punched in their bus tickets as they boarded. The pudgy bus driver didn't give them a passing glance.

A mom tried to hush her two kids as she balanced an arm-load of groceries. An aged couple, huddled in thick coats, watched them with mild interest over the top of a newspaper in the man's hands.

Dr. Blackgaard emerged from Blackgaard's Castle and strode towards his car. A key flashed in his hand.

Connie turned away.

Richard made a beeline for the very back of the bus.

Connie sat a row in front of him. She huddled against the window just in time to watch another bolt of lightning streak across the sky.

Then the rain began.

It pattered in large droplets on the roof, streaking down the windows as the bus pulled away.

Richard cleared his throat. "When are you going to Whit's End?"

She groaned and pressed a hand to her eyes. "I _can't _go back to Whit's End. I _can't _steal the password, it's not _right_."

Richard snorted. "What are you gonna do, _fight_?"

"Maybe I will."

Richard stood and leaned over the seat next to her. "Weren't you _listening?_"

She pressed herself further into the window seat.

"Oh, _no_." Richard slid out of his row and into the seat next to hers. "Look, Connie, you _can't do anything_. You can't fight this."

She shook her head. "I _have_ to find a way. Whit taught me never to give up-"

"_Whit_ fired you and then hired your _male_ co-worker instead." Richard reached out as if to shake her, "Remember, Connie? Remember when you came in for an interview-"

"-Because of _you, _Richard." Connie snapped. "_You're _the one who introduced me."

"I didn't have a choice."

"You knew it was wrong."

"I… did."

She pressed her head against the window. Raindrops raced each other to join into branching streams. Stoplights blinked at every corner. Someone fought with an umbrella as he ran from Finneman's Market to his car in the parking lot. A stray cat huddled under the book shop awning on the opposite corner.

Blackgaard's car pulled up along them at a stoplight. He had his blinker on for a right turn and didn't appear to notice Connie peering at him from the bus window.

In the reflection, Richard watched her, fidgeting. "Don't make him angry, Connie. For both our sakes." He reached out as if to shake some sense into her shoulders. His fingers stopped inches from her skin.

She pushed his hands away. "You're a coward, Richard."

"And you don't know what you're dealing with!"

The old couple lowered their newspaper to look disapprovingly at Richard. The mom and her kids moved a little further away.

Richard's shoulders slumped. "You're not going to Whit's End, are you?"

Connie sighed. "You're right, I _don't_ know what I'm dealing with… but John Avery Whittaker is in trouble."

She'd do her best to save him.

Even if he _didn't_ deserve it.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello, lovely people! I don't know if you saw, but if you click on my profile page, I am now replying to guest reviews that you are leaving, so be sure to take a look because it's basically a personal thank-you to everyone who left a review.

This was an intermediate chapter for me, I felt I needed to write a little bit of space where Connie can react to what happened in the last chapter.

Anyways. COVID-19 has shut down my workplace so I have time to write among other things. Remember to wash your hands and stay safe!


	6. Trust

The power stayed out all over Odyssey as the stormy afternoon turned into a dark, quiet evening.

At home, Connie laid on her bed in the dark, thumbing through her Bible and listening to Mom bustle in the kitchen downstairs.

The clock on the wall chimed. She was supposed to have left for the church forty-five minutes ago. Whit was teaching Bible study tonight.

Listlessly, she shut the Bible and slumped against her pillow.

What was she supposed to _do_? She risked destroying Whit's End if she told Whit about the madman trying to steal the password for Applesauce. If Blackgaard found out, all it would take was two presses of the 'return' key.

If she _didn't _tell Whit… would she end up like Richard? Slammed against a door or _worse_, just for disobeying orders? She _couldn't_ steal the password. It wasn't an option.

She buried her head further into the pillow, trying to relax.

What did Blackgaard _want_ with level two of the program? Was it something he'd hurt her and Whit to get? He'd laughed at her because she'd thought it had something to do with corporate rivalry.

What _was_ the program hiding on Whit's computer?

She gritted her teeth as the familiar burn of curiosity spread through her chest.

She _had_ to control herself. Imagine Whit's disappointment at her predicament. Look at the point curiosity had brought her to.

"Connie?" Mom's call echoed through the floor vent, "There's someone here to see you!"

Her eyes grew wide. Blackgaard hadn't followed her home, had he?

She lifted herself from the bed and jumped into her bedroom slippers. "Coming!"

She took the stairs one at a time as she tried to shake the fear out of her limbs.

Downstairs was chillier. No familiar smells of dinner or cozy feelings of warmth from the stove tonight- just the smoke from wax candles dripping on every windowsill for a little light.

In the kitchen, Mom chatted with the unknown guest and laughed about cheese and crackers for dinner.

Connie peeked over the stair railing. A pair of muddy work-boots stood in the entryway.

She sighed in relief. Not Blackgaard, at least.

She walked into the kitchen to find Tom Riley leaning against the counter, plate of cheddar and crackers in hand and a smile on his face. "Howdy, Connie."

Mom eyed her, suspicious, as she sliced more cheese. "Mr. Riley says that you didn't show up to Bible study last week." She pointed to the calendar hanging just above the kitchen stove. A little cross was marked in the corner of every Wednesday.

Every Wednesday, that is, except the last.

She **l**ooked from the calendar to Tom and offered a sheepish smile. "I… forgot."

Tom nodded and swallowed. "Figured I'd remind you. I can drive you to the church, my truck's parked outside."

"But…" she trailed off. Tom smiled and Mom looked at her, puzzled.

She didn't want to have to explain herself. "Okay. Let's go."

Tom scarfed the rest of his snack and then led her outside, keys in hand.

Wind howled through the neighborhood. The streetlights were dark. A few stars could be seen through the smoky haze above their heads.

Connie shivered despite the season.

Tom walked to the passenger's side of his cherry-red pickup in the driveway and opened the door. "After you."

She grabbed the handle on the frame and hoisted herself up.

The truck, crusted in thick mud from the farm, had a musty, oily garage smell to it that turned her stomach. The cracked leather of the seat crumbled under her legs as she scooted a little further in.

Tom clambered into his side and switched on the headlights. A tabby cat on the curb blinked its bright, glowing eyes before it stalked into the neighbor's backyard.

Connie cleared her throat as the truck rumbled to life. "I forgot my Bible."

Tom shook his head. "I brought an extra." He tapped the knitted bag on the dash, then cranked the truck into gear.

A half-empty gas can in the back seat sloshed as the truck lurched. The knitted bag slid off the dash into Connie's lap.

She peeked inside. She recognized Tom's Bible from church. Old pieces of notepaper and bookmarks stuck out of the top.

The other was a small blue Bible, the worn cover crumbling at the edges. She opened to the first page and squinted at the writing, just able to see it now that the headlights were on.

_To Timothy Riley-_

_We pray that God will use His Word to bring you to saving grace in Jesus Christ._

She rubbed her thumb over the writing.

Tom cleared his throat. "You forgot that we were having study tonight?"

She shook her head. "No… I didn't forget." She paused. "I don't understand why you're bothering to bring me."

Tom smiled. "No woman left behind."

"It's going to be _over_ by the time we get there, Tom. What's the real reason you stopped by?

He scratched his head. "I don't want to pry, but I got mighty worried when you didn't show up tonight. By the way you talked at the park a few days ago…" He shrugged. "I talked to Whit-"

She shrank into the seat. "You talked to _Whit_?"

"We _are_ friends, Connie. I mentioned that I was worried, and he suggested I come get you. Thought maybe I could help."

She sighed. "There's not much you can do, Tom."

He slowed the truck to a stop at a blinking stoplight, behind a line of cars. "Whit's worried about you, too."

"Maybe he shouldn't have fired me, then." She pressed a hand to the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry-"

"No," Tom interrupted, "you're right. He's been doing a lot of soul-searching about what he's done. Lord knows he bothers me every day about it."

"He regrets firing me?"

Tom sighed. "Maybe I should just let you talk to him. I don't want to put words in his mouth."

They drove through the stoplight.

She shook her head. "I don't _want_ to talk to him, Tom. I don't want to re-live that moment all over again."

They passed the church, candles shining through the windows, people leaving with Bibles in hand.

Tom pulled into an empty parking spot. He shifted the truck into park and set the emergency brake. He paused just before he shut off the engine. "Whit isn't _angry_ at you."

She looked out the window. "I know. He never was…" Disappointed, maybe. But never angry.

That's what hurt her the most.

"How about you give him a second chance, Connie?"

Richard's words echoed in her head. "_Whit fired you and then hired your male co-worker instead…_"

_She_ was the one who deserved the second chance. _She_ was the one who'd taken the first step and walked into Whit's End a week ago- to find that Whit had become distant and deaf to her hints.

But maybe he hadn't been deaf, after all.

She glanced at Tom's pleading expression and sighed. "I'll… try."

* * *

Her footsteps echoed through the foyer as she walked past the last student, the pungent smell of candles and trail mix wafting from the open door of classroom 4, the one they always used for Bible study.

Clutching Timothy's Bible, she followed Tom into the room.

Tables had already been folded and put away. The chairs had been stacked in four-high piles and leaned against the wall. A table with a near-empty bowl of trail mix and dripping wax candles was the single sign that anyone had been here.

Whit held a flashlight in one hand and a rag in the other as he scrubbed the dry-erase board on the far side of the wall.

She averted her eyes to the floor.

Tom waved. "Was it a good study, Whit?"

"As good as it _can_ be. It was a little hard to _see_ anything, but we made do." He left the other half of the dry-erase board, covered in diagrams and the picture of a cross. He tossed the rag into a supplies drawer along the wall and stepped towards them. "Hello, Connie."

She closed her eyes. "Hi, Whit. Sorry I'm late." Her eyes shot open again as she smiled. "Why's that always the first thing I say to you?"

His eyes twinkled. "It's all right. I'm glad you came." He nodded to Tom, "thank you."

Tom seemed to take that as his cue to exit the room.

Whit gestured to the stacks of chairs on the wall. "Want one?" He pulled two down without waiting for an answer. "I've been standing for the past hour, I could use a rest."

He pointed the chairs towards the dry-erase board, as if they were in class.

She took a deep breath and sat down next to him. "Tom said you've been worried."

He nodded. "Guess you could call me jealous. I heard from your mom that you got a new job."

"I…" she sighed. "It didn't last very long. I quit. Today, in fact."

It wasn't a lie, per se. She _had_ quit.

Blackgaard just refused to acknowledge it.

Whit hummed. "So, you're out of a job now?"

"Yeah. I… I want my job at Whit's End back."

"I know."

She gazed into his piercing eyes. "Then why didn't you give me a second chance? Why would you hire Eugene back and not me?"

"There's a whole story behind that." He said it like her accusation was understandable, logical, even. "Eugene learned from his mistake. I saw it firsthand. I couldn't say the same about you." He looked at the half-erased whiteboard. "Do you know why I fired you, Connie?"

She glanced to the diagram of the cross Whit had drawn. The strong, blocky cursive underneath read _The Consequences of Sin_.

"Choices have consequences." She paused, "I'm not a sermon illustration, Whit. Do you _know_ how it felt for you to fire me?"

He sighed. "I know that it was difficult for you-"

"_Difficult?" _She squeaked, tears prickling in her eyes, "It was _crushing!_ I _wanted_ a second chance that day I came in but you _wouldn't give-_" She stopped and swallowed hard.

He looked at her again, sympathy in his eyes. "I owe you an apology, Connie. I'd assumed that because you were with Richard Maxwell, you hadn't learned your lesson." He clenched his fist. "I should have put more trust in you than that."

She blinked. "What's Richard got to do with anything? I'd only met him a few minutes before."

"Well, that's a long story. In fact, it's the reason I hired Eugene back."

That jogged her memory. "There was a grade-changing scandal at the college, right?"

His bushy eyebrows rose. "How did you know?"

She couldn't tell him that Blackgaard had mentioned it at their first meeting. "One of my friends goes to Campbell County."

"Hmm." Whit nodded, then continued. "Maxwell forced Eugene and a little boy named Nicholas to hack into the college computers. Eugene was going to take the punishment for all three of them." He shook his head. "Maxwell didn't get a stiff punishment. I worry that he's doing things like this around town."

She shifted in her seat and tried not to grimace.

Whit ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not going to pretend that you've had the same kind of experience as Eugene. I know that you skipped being a camp counselor this year…"

She sighed in frustration. "You _can_ trust me, Whit. Let me prove it." She stared into his eyes with what she hoped was the same pleading expression Tom had used on her. "Give me a second chance? _Please?_"

He nodded, a smile forming under his bushy mustache. "If you're willing…"

She reached over and slung an arm around him in an awkward side-hug. "I won't let you down, Whit. I promise."


	7. Bruises

At precisely 5:55 A.M., Connie rode her bike into the back parking lot of Whit's End.

A light shone through the upper window of the Bible Room. She eyed the shadow moving across the window as she locked up her bike.

She walked to the back door and fished her key from her pocket. Whit had given it back to her last night- it even had her name scrawled in Sharpie on the tag.

Pushing through the door, she took a deep breath and flipped on the floodlights.

It was as if nothing had changed. Clean tables led to a clean soda counter, prepped and ready to start the day.

She pocketed the key and reached for her apron by the door. It, too, had her name on it.

How could she have thought she belonged at _Blackgaard's Castle_?

"Connie?" The stairs creaked as Whit called from the top.

"I'm here, Whit!" She crossed the shop and to the time clock behind the counter. She punched her ticket in. "I'm _on time_!"

"I appreciate it."

"I'll try to make it a habit."

Whit walked downstairs, greasy rag in hand. "Well, I won't hold my breath for _that_." He chuckled. "Do you think you can open the shop today?" He gestured to a grease smudge on his chin. "The Imagination Station needs some work and I won't be able to finish it before we open."

Connie nodded and headed straight for the kitchen.

She turned on the lights and headed for the walk-in freezer. Pre-emptively shivering, she cracked it open and rummaged for the pink-label cartons of ice cream that had already been opened.

Two at a time, she hauled the fifteen flavors out to the front freezer. One-by-one, she opened and stacked them.

Whit leaned on the counter, rubbing his hands on the rag. "Connie, I-" He hesitated.

She set an ice cream tub on the counter and raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't realize how much I'd hurt you by trying to make a point and jumping to conclusions…"

"You mean Richard Maxwell."

He nodded. "Yeah. I'd assumed the worst about you-"

"It's all right, Whit." She put her hands up. "You went over this last night."

"I suppose I did." He clenched the rag. "I was up all night thinking about it. What _was_ Maxwell up to?"

Connie blinked and returned to stacking the ice cream. "Who knows?"

"_Someone_ does. Maxwell mentioned having another job while we were in the board meeting at the College." He shook his head. "It doesn't sit right that he'd come prowling around here."

Connie didn't comment.

After a long minute, Whit sighed. "Well, it's no use standing here all day. Tom and I were wondering if you and your Mom would like to join us for dinner tonight. Call it a 'welcome back' celebration." His eyes twinkled. "I've already called your Mom. What do you say?"

"Sounds fun." She mustered a smile. "I can bring some chips or something."

Whit waved a hand. "All you need to bring is an appetite. Your Mother already promised a salad, anyway." He saluted with the rag. "I'd better get my project finished. Call me if you need anything."

"Sure."

She watched him from the corner of her eye as he whistled his way up the stairs.

As she worked, she prayed that Whit would forget about Richard Maxwell and live in ignorant bliss for the rest of his life.

She opened the doors at 8AM sharp and let in the line of kids who were stamping like wild horses on the porch. All of them headed upstairs, except for a few who wanted their summer morning ice cream.

In a way, it was comforting to serve the kids. Whether it was pointing out the bathrooms, dishing up ice cream, or cleaning the tables, there was a familiarity to it that was second nature to her.

To her, this was home.

That is, until Richard Maxwell walked through the door.

As soon as she saw him, unease crept through her gut. He wore mirrored sunglasses, a sweatshirt, and a ball cap that he pulled low as he dodged tables and pushed through kids.

He came straight to the counter and plunked down two dollars.

She didn't touch the money. After an awkward silence, she pointed at the menu. "You have to tell me what you want."

He cleared his throat. "Chocolate malt." His voice was hoarse.

"Sure…" She slid the money off the counter and put it into the register. "I can bring it to your table."

Richard didn't move.

She scooped chocolate ice cream into the blender on the back counter, then added milk and malted milk powder. She turned around to ask if he wanted anything else, but he was headed for the corner booth at the other end of the building.

Shaking her head, she blended the mix until the chunks of ice cream disappeared, poured it into a glass, then topped it with whipped cream.

He shrank into the booth as she walked across the building with his malt.

She set it on the table, then slid it to him.

He gripped her wrist.

Hard.

"Connie." His sunglasses reflected her fearful expression. "I need your help."

She yanked her arm away as he loosened his grip. "Don't _ever_ do that again." She rubbed her wrist and glared.

Richard looked over his shoulder. "Just hear me out."

"Whit asked me to watch the counter."

"You can _watch _it from over here." He peeled off his sunglasses to reveal show hazel eyes, one of them swollen shut.

She cringed, then sat down across from Richard. "Did Blackgaard do that to you?"

"I ran into Bigfoot. I'm a believer now."

She bristled. "Look, if you're just here to be sarcastic-"

"No, no-" he reached out a hand, but she shrank back. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you here?"

"Blackgaard sent me. I figured if I came, it'd calm him down." He stared into his malt as he twirled the straw. "He knows you're not going to get the password, Connie. He's not an idiot."

"He sent you to threaten me?"

"No…" Richard took a sip of the malt. He stared down at it in surprise. "That's good. I would be here more often if I had known…" He slurped on the malt again.

Connie stared at the bruises that ringed his neck and chin.

After a minute, she cleared her throat. "You were saying?"

Richard sighed and pushed the malt away. "I want the key Whittaker gave you."

She frowned.

He snorted. "Don't play dumb. I know you have it."

"I'm not playing _dumb_." She ran her thumb over the key in her pocket. "Have you been _spying_ on me?"

"Maybe." He held his palm out. "You gonna give it to me?"

"You're acting like I should just hand it over."

Richard leaned into the table. "Listen to me, Connie. Blackgaard is grasping at straws. He's going to get what he wants one way or the other. He needs the password for level two of the program, otherwise it's useless to him. We can make a thousand copies of the program and it's no better than the dollar games at Goodwill. Blackgaard has made a gamble, and he's going to do _whatever_ _it takes_ to make sure it pays out." He paused. "The password _has_ to be written down- or on a disk somewhere. I _have_ to look. It's your- _our_ last chance."

"And what if you're wrong, Richard? What if there's nothing up there for you?"

Richard rolled up one of the long sleeves on his flannel shirt. Bruises littered his arm. "Then I'm out of luck." He stared at her. "And so are you."

She narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean? Is Blackgaard gonna burn down Whit's End like he's been threatening?"

"I can't tell you."

"So it _was_ an idle threat."

His good eye grew wide. "Absolutely not. You have _no idea_ what Blackgaard was planning before I talked him out of it."

"Tell me."

"I can't." He touched his eye. "You wanted me to stand up for what's right, Connie. This is what I get. It's not all sunshine and roses like you and Whittaker like to believe. I'm _powerless_, you get it? Nobody cares about me."

She frowned. "_I _care."

"Then prove it." He held out his hand.

Staring at his hand, she slipped the key from her pocket and pressed it into his palm.

He closed his fist around it. "Thank you." He abruptly stood. "I won't waste any more of your time."

"Wait, Richard-" Her arm throbbed. "Maybe you should get out of town. Just forget Blackgaard and get some help…"

He chuckled dryly. "I've tried."

He left the building.

She watched after him, her shoulders drooping. His hopelessness had become contagious.

She turned around to walk back to the soda counter.

Whit stood at the top of the stairs, watching.

Even from here, she could see the disappointment in his eyes.

Untying the strings with gentle care, she took off her apron, then left the building in Richard's wake.

As soon as Connie walked through the front door, Mom called from the kitchen. "You're home early!"

"It wasn't busy today." Connie fumbled with the helmet clip under her chin as she walked into the dining room.

Mom hummed. "I wanted you to pick up some extra tomatoes from the grocery store, but you'd already left when I called the shop."

"Tomatoes?"

"For the salad." Mom quirked an eyebrow at Connie's blank stare. "The salad I promised I'd bring to Mr. Riley's for dinner. You didn't tell Mr. Whittaker _no_, did you?"

Connie's stomach twisted into a double knot. "No, I told him we'd come," she muttered, then ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

She locked the door, then collapsed on her bed and stared at her ceiling fan.

_Doomed_.

She lifted her throbbing wrist and stared at the purple mark.

Richard had lots of them. She couldn't imagine how it felt.

Mom didn't need to see this. Neither did Whit nor Tom. She got up and threw open her closet.

Her collection of sweaters greeted her, itchy and hot. She pushed them aside and found a black rain jacket instead.

She put it on and zipped it up. The mark peeked out under the sleeve.

"Connie?" Mom knocked on the door. "You ran up those stairs like wolves were chasing you."

"I'm fine."

"I'm going to the store for those tomatoes. Do you need anything?"

Connie glanced to her dresser. Empty makeup bottles covered it, unreplenished thanks to the sticky summer.

She unzipped the jacket and tossed it aside. "Actually, I do…"


End file.
